Nameless
by KicktheCJ
Summary: The Nameless Warlock boy, so far from home, a life of a lie, normality is a strangeness. The life of Magnus Bane.


The Boy:

7:

The little boy felt a little lost in his heart, he felt weary of the pain he endured, and more than anything he was sick of how broken he was. It felt normal to him though, his human nature-Pain, suffering and loss was what defined him normal. He worked, enslaved, every single day, at the young age of seven and love was an abomination of life.

Her mother looked upon him with fear, hatred and pity, flinched away when he touched her, he was clever, intelligent, and unloved. "The boy," They called him. "Pest, abomination, freak," And he didn't-couldn't understand why. His father beat him, telling him he was useless everytime he breathed. He didn't know why, he thought this was normal.

A day in his long, gruelling life, he overheard shouting, a conversation in which he was forbidden to hear.

"THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE MADE! A MONSTER! YOUR CHILD, MY CHILD IS A MONSTER! AND IT'S YOUR ENTIRE FAULT! GO BACK TO HELL! YOU'VE HAD YOUR FUN YOU, YOU UNGODLY CREATURE,"

He didn't hear any more than that, just screams between the two, the words were unsolvable and he abandoned hope, when the boy next saw the woman he called his mother again, she was hung from a rope. She had hung herself, committed suicide, he thought that this was normal; he thought everything was because he had never known anything else.

He never wept for his mother, simply returned to work, her suicide meant nothing, and the pain and anger she had felt was nothing to him, a pinprick on steel skin. His father watched as the unfeeling monster continued his work. "BOY!" He yelled.

He grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck, dragging him to the canal, forcing the mop of black hair under the water, the wriggling creature experience something he never had before; he felt fear. A rush of strangled emotions swept over him as he tried to prise the iron grip off him, with no avail, he was gone already to the world, the world that never knew him. He saw the trees and the sky stare forebodingly at him, and he was almost ready to say farewell to nature until a powerful surge of energy engulfed him.

It started at his heart-a burning sensation like no other, it didn't hurt, didn't create pain, not like his lungs were hurting no; it was like a tingle, spreading through his veins, stretching and creating, weaving in and out of those strings of numbers that created him. Life fizzled into him and the iron grip released. When he next looked up, his father wasn't there, but charred bones and the smell of burnt flesh haunted him. That's when he realised, his life had never been normal, at all.

He ran, far and fast, his legs carrying him away from everything, nameless little child in a storm of emotions and life.

This was the first Seven years of the boy's life.

The silent Brother:

He didn't have an age, or a name, didn't know what he looked like, never had a proper wash or eaten anything more than an apple every two days. Skinny as a stick and looking drained, the lost child rests. The world around him was empty in his eyes, a tree was a stick of funny wood, the brown lake was a muddy puddle. Everything was so…uncharacteristic, no life or breath in it.

Then, from starvation or hunger, or the dizziness in his head, he allowed blackness to consume his shivering form, and he laid still at the side of the road. During unconsciousness, a hooded figure approached him, eyes sewn shut, but still had the ability to see, mouth unmoving, but still the ability to talk.

_The boy, the boy of great destruction, it is him,_

_Are you sure._

_Positive._

_His name?_

_He has no name._

_Brother Jeremiah, we must awake him, he needs substance and food._

_Of course._

When the boy awake, he blinked his unusual eyes at what he saw before him. He had never seen things like them before, they had no eyes, their ability to speak vanquished, and yet they penetrated his mind to hear the words they wished to speak. _You are the boy? Son of demon Varlos? _The strange creature spoke in his native tongue of Dutch.

He was confused, his father was no Demon, then he remembered his mothers words- 'GO BACK TO HELL YOU UNGODLY CREATURE!' He remembered that he was told that he had two fathers, he had assumed this normal. But the father that had beat him in Human form was, very obviously, not his biological father.

"I-I think," He stammered on his words, getting used to his speech once more, having never been able to speak freely beyond 'would you like…' or 'what should I do next?'

_Do you have a name, Son of Varlos?_

"A name?"

_Something of which we call you when you are needed. Or when someone wishes to converse with you._

"Converse? I-Well, I've always just been called, The boy," The Silent Brothers' face remained impassive.

_Then a name must be chosen for you, Warlock,_

"Warlock?"

_You are able to perform great magic, and you are part Greater Demon, therefore you are a Warlock. Your name must be something with symbolism, you are a boy who has capability of great destruction, it is rare for a warlock to be part greater Demon, even more to have blood on his hands at the age of 7 and a half, therefore, I name you Magnus Bane, meaning Great Destruction._

Magnus had no reply, so he merely nodded, a hollow feeling within him that he could not name. He was a hazard, then shouldn't he be killed? This wasn't normal, he could tell, he had never been introduced to such…strangeness. He would've been killed if his father had known that he was a destructor. His "father".

_You will stay with us, until you can be released to the world._

And this was how Magnus Bane spent his childhood, with the Silent Brothers of Spain, Madrid.

Camille:

"MAGNUS BANE!"

"Yes Darling?" The man responded innocently, his wide yellow-green cat eyes shining as a smile graced his dark features.

"Care to explain this?" The vampire gestured to the newly decorated walls. Scarily bright pink walls.

"I got bored," The 100 or so old man whined, pouting childishly. "And it was so dull, I think pink is nicer," He fluttered his eyelashes, but only got a frown in response. "I didn't even use my amazing, astonishing, magnificent-"

"Shut up,"

"-Glamorous, powers, all hand done, for her Lady Belcourt,"

"Oh shut up,"

"Make me,"

"Maybe I will," She said seductively, moving closer to the Warlock, tangling her blood red nails in his unruly black hair. Her lips found his in a loving manner.

These were the days in which Camille actually was in love with Magnus, before her unbeating heart had woven out of his grasp. His first proper love, and though she would refuse to admit it…hers too. Something more than a boy toy or 'a bit of fun'.

"Feel like taking this to the bedroom?"

"Oh certainly,"

Though later both of them would deny it to themselves. Or at least try.

Pretty:

"He's pretty," Woolsey muttered, watching the boy leave once more. His dark black hair was shaken from his eyes as he left.

"Haven't we had this conversation before, because this feels like déjà vu,"

"Yes Magnus, he's broken and only got eyes for Tessa and all that, but what if…"

"Drop it Woolsey, before I drop you…out the window,"

"Is this not my house?" Magnus Bane looked up with those all too familiar eyes, a look that made him look as if he was staring into your soul, reading to steal it from you and pin it too your eyes. But there was the gentleness in the background that made Magnus look exactly like a small little tabby cat.

"It may be, but he's my client, and my friend,"

"But you think he's gorgeous don't you?"

"Black hair and blue eyes are my favourite combination," He shrugged, dismissing the question. His friend shook his head.

"Sometimes I wonder Magnus, I really do," His tired eyes stared at the sky and shook his head. "I really really do,"

Parties:

Sometimes Magnus thought of his childhood, when he talked of it he dismissed it with a laugh or joke, but when he thought of it, it tore his heart apart. Normal was never an accurate thing to him, his mind was always messed up because of his life; everything he thought was normal was the opposite. When he was going to die, he thought murder was normal, he thought suicide was normal; his mind had been warped so he became an abomination.

He sighed and put on a smile, waving whomever had arrived, time to get this party started, the best way to forget everything, get drunk, get out of it and just…relax.

"Nephilim?" The girl with dark hair stared up at his tall figure.

"I have an invitation, and these are my friends,"

"I must've been drunk," Magnus sighed, opening the door for them to walk in.

The last boy to walk in caught his eyes. His hair was raven black and messy, his eyes the most gorgeous blue that would put the blue of the sunlit sky to shame, his eyes met the boys' and winked, leaving the pale cheeks to set alight cutely.

They all talked awhile, a conversation on mindwiping and his signature, until they were leaving.

"And you...call me," And they all left, the boy's-Alec-cheek's alight again.

Magnus fell in love, properly, with the little Shadowhunter boy, proper love; and the hundreds of years of loneliness, the childhood of being called the boy seems nothing compared to the pain that he endured when he turned away from his love and walked away. And suddenly, he felt like the nameless boy again, everything normal that shouldn't be, nothing right, the feeling of suffering shot through him, that he ignored. The pain registered, no action taken towards it.

The nameless boy who suffered, was going to suffer much worse again.


End file.
